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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29465883">The End of All but Me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Al_Wahid/pseuds/Al-Wahid'>Al-Wahid (Al_Wahid)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 20:47:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,896</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29465883</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Al_Wahid/pseuds/Al-Wahid</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A tale of someone spiraling into insanity and turmoil</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The End of All but Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>So, this is the end. This is how it'll all end. I have never imagined it'd come this far. It started out all nice and simple, all innocent and such. </p><p>When one has doubts, it's fine. One brushes them off. That's what I did. I didn't have any time to deal with them. They're just tiny voices one hears in their head. Though I think that is when I should've started seeing the red flags. It's not every day that one wakes up and suddenly starts having minor doubts, but I digress. </p><p>Anyway, I lived life as normal. I attended school and kept my grades up, had outings with my friends and hung out with them often, studied when I got home, ate and drank regularly, exercised... You know, what everyone does. Life was going on as usual. I was enjoying my life and I had happiness. I had a bright future ahead of me and I had hope. I was... happy, as most people would say. I sometimes miss him, that child I once was.</p><p> <br/>
Fast forward a couple of weeks and the doubts are all I can hear. They tell me what everyone is speaking and what everyone is thinking. They tell me I'm not enough. I'm worthless. I'm trash. I'm scum. I don't give in though. I know they only tell lies and so, I move on. I keep moving forward and I don't let my doubts get the best of me. </p><p>I live like this for a couple of months and I got used to fighting this weakling of a monster. Little did I know, it was impregnating my mind with another monster. A disease rather. </p><p>I've always been smart. As a child, I had the reasoning of a young adult and now, as a teenager, I have the reasoning of an adult in their older years. I could always think above my age. I was always logical and analytical. I had the mind of a detective and that was my power. That was also my downfall.</p><p>Back to the tale. I never knew this disease was growing until I started to notice the doubts were all I could think of. They were there in my mind, all the time, and I could do nothing about it. I had the mind of a detective, fast and sharp, but now corrupt. Now all I could analyze was my doubts, my insecurities, and my shortcomings, and, well, I became tired. My grades were falling and I wasn't eating well. I couldn't study or exercise and that took its toll on me.</p><p>I lived like this for a while more. I paid the allegations about me no attention as I was still under the illusion I was the master of my mind. In school, I was not able to focus in class. I was unable to answer when I was called upon in class. I returned home tired as if I'd been running a marathon. </p><p>I turned to my friends for solace but most of them told me the same thing, "It's fine, you'll get better." And whoever I asked, told me the same. I think they all thought it was because of the phase everyone goes through as an adolescent, puberty. I believed them. I started to regain happiness and I went on knowing that maybe this will all end sooner or later. </p><p>A long time passes and I've not changed one bit. I never considered asking for help because this was all supposed to be a phase. Right? I mean, is it supposed to last this long? I'm nearing the end of this phase and not much has changed. Maybe it's about time I do get help. And so, with that in mind, I gravitate towards philosophy and psychology. </p><p>If there is one thing I regret and don't regret at the same time it's learning those two subjects. As Nietzsche once said: "He who fights monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster... when you gaze into the abyss, the abyss also gazes into you."</p><p>Fighting the monster, I was. Gazing into the abyss, I was. Armed with weapons beyond bullets and swords. No, something far greater. I armed myself with histories worth of philosophy and psychology and I rushed into battle. My allies were the likes of Plato, Socrates, Jung, Freud, and Nietzsche, and so on. However, I scratched the monster now and the abyss gazed into me further. Little do I realize that existentialism and nihilism build nests in my mind and inhabit it. My allies hurt me the most</p><p>I decide that maybe dead people won't do much. I decide I need a break. I turn towards literature and try my best to distract myself. And I do. I become happier and happier. I have rediscovered a happy place that I once inhabited as a child. This was my escape. An escape only I could access. </p><p>My hope disappeared as quickly as it appeared. The enemy invaded my fort and I could do nothing. I tried reading but I would find myself putting a book down as soon as I picked it up. </p><p>I had no escape. My few close friends noticed something was up. Was it because my figure got smaller and smaller until I was a bunch of bones tightly wrapped in my skin? My sunken, black eyes? The apathetic personality that I set up? My emotions that I hid? I wouldn't know honestly. I was too busy fighting whatever this was. I was urged to open up. Maybe it'll help me get better. I did. I was called a liar and I was called insane. I was called an attention-whore and a weakling. </p><p>My understanding of mental health was greater than theirs. I didn't blame them, mad as I was. I couldn't blame them. I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy. I wouldn't wish this on the devil itself if it exists. </p><p>Some did stay. They said they'd help me through it and so I talked to them. They became my happy place. My haven. My sanctuary. But, like everything else, this sadistic being kept telling me to shut up, not to bother them. "Keep to yourself." It said, "As long as you don't bother them, the humans will let you live amongst them."</p><p>I am fatigued. I can no longer speak of what ails me. I can only sit with my head in between my legs and my hands covering my ears. I attempt to confront it once more but it screams with its many voices and with its many faces, the abyss gazes evermore. It looks tempting, the abyss, it looks tempting but, I still don't give in.</p><p>It’s been more than a year and it’s driving me fucking mad. I no longer want this. I have lived for two fucking years with unhappiness. I only have unhappiness. I am bedridden because of fatigue most of the time and I can speak of it to anyone, especially not my parents. They'll put me in an asylum and call me insane. I hide it. I've learned to hide it so well that no one can tell. My war is on the inside and it shall remain that way. This thing is worse than a god-damned demon. I hate it. I hate it all</p><p>I can see myself getting more and more distant from everyone. They're too good for me. They're human. I am not human. I am a fucking tumor on the back of society, leeching off of it. I am scum. I am a burden. Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me. I want it all to end. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. I'm in a place that doesn't believe in pain unless you bleed. Unless red flows outside of you. </p><p>My fucking chest is tight. It feels as if my heart is being ripped to shreds and sewn back just to be ripped again. My gut feels wrenched, getting ever so smaller and smaller until I no longer feel hungry. I just want it all to end for fucks sake. Has God forsaken me? Has HE? What have I done to deserve this? Is my very existence sin?</p><p>And all of a sudden, in all this madness and melancholia, I hear it calling, the abyss. It promises me safety and comfort and peace and so, I give in. It consumes me and I become one with it. The pain has faded yet I still feel no hunger and emotion. I still feel fatigued yet with no real way to feel rested. I was tricked. It was all fake.</p><p>I was numb now until I had to talk to someone. The pains came back when I wanted to speak. I still wasn't allowed to bother them, the humans. I thought nothing of myself and I lived as a husk or, to quote Dazai, "he could only consider me as the living ghost of a would-be suicide, a person dead to shame, an idiot ghost. I felt as though all my problems meant nothing. I felt as though everything meant nothing, not even I.</p><p>It told me to put us at rest and that I would be forgotten. They, the humans, begged me not to go. Not to pass on. They said they won't forget. I got mad. Forget? All you do is forget. You forgot about me when I was struggling. I'll show you how forgettable I am. I'll show you that in a world rid of sin, I don't exist. I'll show you all how I only exist in worlds of pure horror and insanity. Sorrow and melancholia. I'll show you the dead trees of my world and the maddened, Grey ocean with streaks of blood. I'll show you my bandages and how they bleed. I'll show you a world full of only shame and sin. </p><p>I continued to live. I don't know why. I walked amongst the filthy humans. I had a hatred for them now. I now realized I was better than them. Fuck them. Fuck their existence. I embraced the abyss and now I have no worries. I look at their heads and I see their lying, hypocritical faces. They're all ugly. They're all hideous. Fuck them. </p><p>I visit my now favorite place, the cemetery, where, in the moonlight, I dance and sing amongst the dead humans. I laugh at them. And when I get tired, I sit down and read and write. In fact, I'm now writing this while perched on top of a grave. I don't miss my old self. I hate him. But, why? WHY GOD-DAMNED IT? </p><p>I'M SUPPOSED TO BE NUMB. I am supposed to not feel anything. Yet, why? WHY? I can't help but remember the past. I want to move on. I WANT TO. But that isn't me. I don't want this. Oh, help me. I'm going mad and I don't want any of this. I want to be free. I don't want this. I don't want this. But I guess this is what I chose. I live alone now. I switch between sanity and insanity. I have neither happiness nor unhappiness. I guess this is the end of all but me. I guess I now live alone in my own world. Heh, it sure gets lonely </p><p>The End</p>
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